Max stood at the doorway for a moment longer, the silver key still resting in his palm, watching the retreating figure of Lyra disappear down the hallway. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
He understood her words—her warning, her expectations, her concerns—but beneath it all, he held a quiet, unwavering confidence in his own strength.
Shaking his head lightly, he turned the key and stepped into the room.
The interior was elegant—too elegant, perhaps. It had the classic layout of a high-tier cultivation suite: a spacious bed with silk sheets, a polished blackwood table, a separate washroom, and a sealed training chamber outlined with refined spirit inscriptions that shimmered with a faint golden hue.
Despite the lavish design, Max didn't bother inspecting the comfort or aesthetics. His mind was already elsewhere.
